Memories of Petey. Everything has changed.

We like to talk about the memories and fun, but Petey would've liked us to remember his death, too. He would've liked us to remember everything. In that spirit, here goes.

If there was one mental image I'd associate with the events surrounding Petey's death, it would be the newspaper headlines. LOCAL BOY KILLED IN HIGHWAY MISHAP and that picture underneath an epitaph of it's own. Surrounding our town was all pretty much blank prairie, but there was one spot on I-43 near the river that there was a bunch of trees, and that's where it happened. You could see the trees in the photograph in the paper, so foreign, like it wasn't here, like it didn't happen at all. But the carcase of Uncle Jimmy's familiar blue chore truck in a crumpled heap said it did happen. It happened alright, so fast that they say there wasn't any pain but when Steve got to that part of the article reading the paper out loud in Old Ben's living room he stopped for a minute to let us soak in the irony. The goddamn irony. So There wasn't any pain, no, just one big fuck-gaping wound in all of our lives. Petey wasn't the medicine any more. It was then that we realized he'd become the antidote. In Memory of Petey
[Dave]
Time:6:29 PM

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